


Burn You Up, Burn You Down

by Hambone



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Caning, Corporal Punishment, Figging, Hands-free Orgasm, Humiliation, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Religious Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 04:04:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18731254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: Logarius attempts to correct Alfred's behavior and unknowingly enforces it.





	Burn You Up, Burn You Down

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about figging Alfred and then a friend brought up the topic of figging completely by coincidence so I knew it was fate and it had to be done. Just a head's up, this one has a lot of religion-enforced talk about how buttsex and masturbation is bad. Not that it's stopping me (or Alfred).
> 
> Enjoy~!

    He had his hands in his lap and his ankles crossed, and with his head low and dogged he looked as chaste and demure as he ever should. Were it not for the reason he was sent here in the first place, Logarius might have believed it. Even now he felt some tug of pity in his old heart, for Alfred truly was his favorite.

    “Alfred, you are a young man, I know, and so I understand that some trespasses are to be expected. While not encouraged, it can be forgiven, once or twice.”

    Alfred’s head dropped lower. From his position high above, Logarius could not see his face, but he knew from experience what expression it held; the way Alfred’s eyes would dart about blankly, how he chewed his lip as his face bloomed with splotches of pink. Logarius exhaled deeply, rocking back in his seat as his hands kneaded folds into his robes. It was never a pleasant day when he had to punish his own, for their own good or otherwise.

    “But, Alfred,” he continued, “not only have you been sent to me under such circumstances many times before, but now I have head you were caught in sinful contact with yourself most unnatural.”

    Again his pupil flinched. He felt pity, but not remorse. This was necessary.

    “Self-abuse is not permitted by our laws,” he said firmly, “you know that.”

    “I’m sorry.”

    He could hardly hear Alfred, the way he crumpled into himself.

    “I know you are, but that is not enough.”

    Alfred looked up at him swiftly, and his shining eyes were round with panic.

    “I’ll do better!” he said, voice rising in his chest, “I, I know I’m unworthy but please, let me try.”

    Logarius held up his hand to stall Alfred’s words before he could become any more frantic. He watched the young man squirming in his seat a moment, knew his eagerness to please. It was unfortunate that such a bright spark as his was tainted with worldly needs so base.

    “Go to the kitchen and bring me back some ginger root.”

    The request, though spoken with the same grave tone, was so ordinary that Alfred did not process it for a moment. His doeish eyes blinked, and he looked at his lap, and then back at his Master. With his lips parted, he stammered.

    “I…”

    “Do as I say, Alfred.”

    He left no room for argument. Alfred stood and bowed nervously, leaving the room in a disorganized shuffle. When the door had shut Logarius let himself relax a bit, turning in his chair to rest his elbow on his desk and cradle his forehead. Evening was falling outside – he could just make out the bloody light of the setting sun through the cracks in his window shutters. Normally around this time he would be opening them to let the cool darkness inside, but not tonight. He was vexed, and it made him want to remain in the natural blackness that was familiar to him. The dim light of candelabras set across the table was there for his acolyte’s comfort, not his own.

    And what concern his student gave him. These past years he had more than shown his loyalty to the cloth, and to his Master, but Logarius saw within him indecision he could not quite understand. There was a feverish need for approval and acceptance, yet still he continued to fall to the side of temptation when unattended. While his disdain for the hedonism of their prey was obvious, the same patterns of lust were apparent in his own countenance. Alfred was dedicated and brave, perhaps more than was smart, yet his abstinence from all forms of gluttony faltered when it came to sexuality and Logarius could not see why. He had approached no friend with passionate need, lusted after no women. Young men often had overactive bodies and minds, and the constant washing of new recruits sheets was normal and kindly ignored until they were settled enough in their skin as men to control the urge, but Alfred’s tendency to grow flustered in odd places and at odd times was worrying, more so his having been caught, again, finding pleasure in a way uncommon. He’d been meant to be cleaning weapons, a task he often volunteered for, and was seen there with his tongue pressed to the blood encrusted flat of a Wheel like a beast, hands between his legs.

    But he was not a beast, and had no blood of corruption inside him. It should have been a relief, but it was not. Logarius was very old, and he remembered long before the time of the curse. People had forgotten in this day and age that madness existed outside the blood.

    It was only a few minutes before Alfred’s return. Despite the strange request he had hurried, and was breathing somewhat heavily as he reentered. In his arm he cradled a large root like a child, as if his Master’s order had turned the ordinary ginger to a relic of some delicacy. Logarius had to steel himself to keep from smiling fondly, because this was no moment to relax. If he could not steer Alfred from his sins, they would consume him, and he would be lost, and then there would be no room for feelings between him and the grave.

    “Master,” Alfred bowed again, stiffly, “is this sufficient…?”

    “Bring it here.”

    In his own hand the root was miniscule, but he had lived amongst humans long and knew their proportions. From his hip he drew a knife, dwarfing the ginger, and carefully began to draw its blade along the skin. Still standing, Alfred shifted uneasily, unsure of what was expected of him. Logarius let him stew in it.

    “Repeat to me,” he said, “why what you have done is wrong.”

    Relieved at having been given a task, despite what it consisted of, Alfred straightened.

    “Intercourse is for creation,” he recited, comfortable at least in his memory of his lessons, “essence meant to give life, as the Great Ones desire. To perform, uhm, abuse on oneself when alone and without purpose is to tarnish the holy act and take away its meaning.”

    Logarius paused in his carving to turn the root in his fingers, giving Alfred a cursory glance. The plug was large, as the root had been, but for this it was appropriate.

    “And what were you doing to yourself, besides that?”

    At this Alfred shrunk again, but he did not hesitate to answer.

    “Sodomy, Master.”

    “And sodomy is wrong because?”

    “Because no life can ever come of it.”

    “Correct.”

    Logarius set his knife down and looked at Alfred. He was staring with unseeing eyes at Logarius’s boots, almost slumped, as if he had already accepted whatever he assumed his fate was. With a deep sigh, Logarius restrained himself from comforting him.

    “Position yourself. I am going to punish you.”

    Something seemed to brighten in Alfred at that, which was puzzling. Logarius stood from his chair and pushed it forward, watching as Alfred scrambled up into the seat and stood, bracing his hands against the seat back, face determined. As a human, he stood only to Logarius’s hip, so some arranging was necessary to reach him easily. Alfred was young and had grown into their fold with the practice already in place, but Logarius remembered with an odd mix of emotion how in the early days of his leadership they had to learn the compromises. Standing in the chair, Alfred was now almost level with his eyes, and Logarius could finally clearly see the flush of regret across his cheeks, the way nervous chewing had reddened his lower lip. Alfred’s gaze flickered to him briefly before turning away in shame.

    “Not this way. I’ll have you lean across the desk.”

    “The desk?”

    When standing in the chair it was indeed possible to bend over it thusly, but the position was an odd one and his brows drew together deeply.

    “I am man enough to take my punishment standing, Master.”

    He did not speak rebelliously, but with earnesty. Alfred was proud of himself, and of his position, and he thought to prove himself so. Logarius put a firm hand on his back and turned him to the desk regardless.

    “Do as you’re told.”

    Alfred stalled his tongue at that, and complied, leaning in to rest upon his elbows, close enough that his hips nearly bumped the wood. Logarius kept his hand there a moment, not pushing, simply holding, to remind Alfred of his place. Even through the heavy wool of his robes Logarius could feel his little heart beating, and the uneasy quiver of his lungs. When he removed his hand Alfred did indeed stay, so still and quiet it were as though he was afraid to move, to make sound. This was good, and Logarius nodded approvingly to himself as he turned to retrieve his switch.

    “Trousers down.”

    When he turned back Alfred had shimmied his britches down just below his buttocks, his robes pulled up over his shoulder on one side to bare himself. He had hardly moved otherwise, still keeping his breaths soft, and he stared ahead resolutely. It was not the first time he’d had to bring hands to Alfred in this manner, but the last time had been before he’d quite passed the cusp of manhood, years before. It was an uncommon punishment to submit a grown man to, but his actions warranted nothing harsher, not yet. Besides, he thought, eyeing the carved root, it also presented a unique teaching opportunity.

    Since he’d last been in this position Alfred had grown considerably, and despite his plumpness the solid muscle he’d earned showed clearly through his taught rump and thighs, what he could see of them. Logarius laid a hand upon his bared flesh and Alfred jumped, as if he had not heard him return from across the room.

    “I want you to understand, Alfred, that you are not being punished simply for bringing yourself pleasure.”

    He felt the way Alfred tensed at his words and knew he had made the right choice. Though young, Alfred was strong, amazingly so.

    “This isn’t about disrespect to the Great Ones, not entirely. What you have done to yourself, and what others will do to you, is my concern.”

    He pushed his thumb between Alfred’s buttocks and found his mark easily. Alfred, without meaning to, squirmed away in discomfort, a soft gasp escaping him.

    “M-Master-! Don’t, I, that’s dirty!”

    Logarius held him still, simply pressing the pad of his thumb over Alfred’s hole lightly. The muscle seemed to pulse beneath his touch, worryingly.

    “You say that, but saw to yourself here, didn’t you?”

    He could see Alfred’s hands were clasped, and he pressed his forehead against them miserably.

    “Yes, Master.”

    “Would you wish for others to touch you here? Other women and men?”

    “No!”

    Alfred tried to look over his shoulder, trying to meet Logarius’s eyes to convey his sincerity.

    “Never, Master, never anyone, but-!”

    Then he stopped. Logarius pulled his hand away.

    “If you accustom yourself to such things, you may come to. It is a distraction, Alfred, and a weakness. Such disregard for order is how Vilebloods live, and if they sense this need in you they will exploit it.”

    Alfred tensed again at the mention of Vilebloods, and that was finally something to be relieved by, for revulsion was obvious in his posture.

    “I want you to think of this,” Logarius said, “as we proceed. I want you to remember what you open yourself up to when you seek to encourage these feelings.”

    Acquiescing, Alfred began to nod, but his mouth and eyes flew open in surprise when Logarius began to push the plug of root he’d carved against his hole.

    “What-?”

    “Think on this feeling, Alfred,” Logarius said, stiff. He was careful to apply the right amount of pressure, steady but not harmful. Alfred, confused, arched away, trying to see what was being put inside him. He’d pushed himself onto his toes and Logarius had to grab his hip with his other hand to keep Alfred in place, and with slow determination breached him. Alfred hiccupped in shock.

    “I… I will do my best.”

    Saying nothing, Logarius pushed firmly, watching Alfred’s ass accept more and more of the tapered root till he reached the notch he’d carved before the end and his muscle closed around it, held in place at its base. He took it too easily. At this point Alfred had begun to sweat, the knuckle of his right hand clenched between his teeth as a look of deep consternation wrought his features. Logarius kept his fingers there to hold the plug in place, feeling Alfred’s natural impulse to push the object from within himself as his hole flexed outwards a few times. Then, the sensation began to set in.

    “Oh!” he said, growing redder, “oh, I-!”

    Pulling away, Logarius regarded him.

    “The more you tense, the more it will burn.”

    Alfred looked back at him again, and his eyes were growing wet, less from discomfort than from humiliation. His thighs quivered.

    Logarius brought the switch to rest gently against Alfred’s bottom. He watched as Alfred braced instinctually and then immediately regretted it, bringing his hand back to his mouth to cover his discomposure. Unwilling to be wholly cruel about it, Logarius rubbed the switch against his backside for a quiet minute, allowing Alfred to regain some control of himself. After all, this was a lesson, not an execution, and to teach meant to show both a steady hand and open arms to those in need. When Alfred had begun to breathe more regularly, and his shifting had somewhat subsided, that was when Logarius began.

    “I will strike you fifteen times, Alfred.”

    Before Alfred could say anything, if indeed he wished to, Logarius flicked his wrist and the switch came down horizontally across Alfred’s buttocks with a neat crack. Alfred did not cry out at the initial impact but yelped a second later as the unintended consequence of his tensing squeezed against the ginger inside him, heightening the stinging sharply. It took him a moment to relax again, still unused to forcing his body to disobey its instincts. As soon as he did Logarius again lashed him, neatly paralleled to the first strike.

    For the first five blows Logarius continued this way, allowing Alfred time to come to terms with the dueling burns within and without his ass. At the sixth however he became serious. Breaking the rhythm they’d established, Logarius struck him again almost immediately after the fifth lash, and Alfred jumped in response. He would have to pick which pain to endure now: the bite of the switch against his softened buttocks or the creeping torment inside. Both were difficult to resist against as well, for his body recoiled from each blow with memory built over years of battle, and his hole ached with the urge to expel the irritant from him. It was like a cramp he could not soothe, twisting inside him indecisively, and what was worse, what was worse was his total failure to be corrected.

    As Logarius brought the switch down a seventh time, harder than before, Alfred was keenly aware of how hard he was. How hard he had been, almost this entire time, from the moment Logarius had laid His skin to Alfred’s. What a weak and pitiful creature he was, hearing the truths of his sins, knowing them to be truths, and yet yearning all along for more. His Master, radiant and pure, worked so hard to cure him of his insolence, but all he could think about was His touch, His gaze, the way He steadied Alfred’s pose with His wizened hand. He’d touched him too, so deeply, the first time anyone but he himself had deigned to. He’d seen the way Alfred’s hole had spread easily over His makeshift plug, desperate for His touch.

    Perhaps that was the way it always would be, for there was no agony that could be rested upon him greater than the knowledge that he would never be better. Everything his Master did brought him pleasure, every word, be it of encouragement or chastisement, alighting in his heart. He would throw himself into his Master’s bed without a second though and spread his thighs eagerly, even if the size would split him open and leave him lifeless, and equally so he would beg for proper punishment, crawl to his Master’s feet even with every limb broken and beg for more, for he so deserved it. some split that had never been meant to heal had been joined together in his mind, perhaps when he’d first seen Logarius performing His holy duties, perhaps when he had first laid eyes upon Him, perhaps when Alfred had been but a twinkle in his father’s eye, simply created that way. He could not know, and he would not ask himself, for to face his own wickedness wounded him so, yet again and again he would find himself trapped beneath his desires and not know why. Anything from his Master was enough, anything, as long as he was not forced to leave.

    The tenth strike clapped hard against his buttocks and Alfred broke the skin of his knuckles with his teeth. Logarius knew instantly, could smell the blood. He did not stop. Since his first cry Alfred had been perfectly silent, stiff, bearing the punishment perfectly. He was proud, honestly. Sweat was trickling down Alfred’s thighs, catching in his golden hair, and his skin was bright red and swollen where Logarius laid his blows, for he laid them hard, but Alfred was quiet and still. He was a warrior, and it was to be expected, but Logarius knew too well how even the strongest of men could become crippled by pain so intimate, because while it was not severe compared to the slice of an axe or the stab of a tooth it cut at their soul as well as their body, dishonor more painful than any weapon’s edge.

    Alfred was growing dizzy. Still trapped against his bunched underwear, his cock throbbed in time to the pounding of blood in his heart, in each long stroke against his ass. He was straining now, everywhere, against the desires of himself and his body, exhausted and yet unable to cease. The burn had spread everywhere, acute inside himself but taking root in his dick, in his tightened balls, in the ball of confusion inside his belly. His hair was grown damp against his forehead and it tickled his eyes but he couldn’t move his hands to push it away for fear that any release of the tension would unravel him wholly and he would simply die, or wish he was dead. He could not stop the way he bounced up on his toes at each stroke, counting them down in his head. It hurt. He boiled.

    On the fourteenth stroke he came undone.

    Logarius brought the switch down one last time, watching Alfred’s twitching, and let out a quiet breath. It was over, and now the healing could begin.

    “You’ve done well, Alfred.”

    He laid a hand on Alfred’s sweaty scalp and ran his ringers through his hair a few times. As he did this he traced his other hand down until he felt the exposed bulb of the end of the ginger root and quickly, carefully, withdrew it. Alfred’s breath hitched, but he still said nothing. Logarius turned away quickly, both to dispose of his tools and to give his pupil the privacy he undoubtedly desired to pull himself back together. The punishment was over and he need not shame him further.

    “I know you can do better,” he said, “I know you will. You’re a good man, Alfred, with a good soul. I saw that within you when I found you, and I see it still. But you will fall to corruption if you continue down this path.”

    When he turned back Alfred had his trousers up and was standing, albeit with an awkward hunch forwards. Despite the removal of the root, his backside would sting a while yet, a reminder of what he’d learned. For the first time that evening Logarius let his face soften, and he almost smiled.

    “I have faith in your abilities, Alfred, but you must also. Do you understand me?”

    Alfred still did not meet his eyes, but he nodded. He looked tired.

    “Yes.”

    “Good, good. You’re free to go then.”

    Logarius waited. Alfred stared at the floor and shifted uncomfortably. Neither of them moved. Then, Logarius got it.

    “Ah. Allow me to assist.”

    Alfred looked up, alarmed.

    “No, Master, that won’t be necessary! I can, uhm,” and he looked back at the edge of the chair seat. He leaned forward, wincing slightly, but Logarius reaching him first. With practiced ease he picked Alfred up under the armpits and gently set him on the floor. With his size he had become used to humans requiring help sometimes, but Alfred clearly became flustered again, crossing his arms over his sides once Logarius released him. For a moment he looked again like the nervous teenager he had been when Logarius had first inducted him, and he was almost drawn to chide him for being concerned by such small things. Instead he stood back to his full height and pushed his chair into his desk.

    “You don’t need to hunt tonight, Alfred. I want you to rest.”

    “Right,” Alfred said quietly, and then he caught himself and said more loudly, “Yes, Master, I will. Thank you. For showing me such kindness and patience, I mean.”

    Logarius nodded.

    “Of course.”

    Alfred left with a telling shuffle and Logarius sat down, this time on his bed, and stared into the empty room, wondering if his work was truly done. As much as he saw light in his student, he saw something darker too. He found himself awed by how it gnawed at him, and how despite this Alfred remained, always, his favorite. He was nearly two hundred years old, and still something inside him was stirring with love he was not sure was fair, to either of them.

    Meanwhile, Alfred returned to his room and buried his face in his pillows, hoping with all his heart that no one had noticed the wet spot on the front of his tunic.  


End file.
